Atonement
by bronzeraven
Summary: KotORII, spoilers for Atton's past. "Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I wonder if this is what it is to feel remorse." Rated T, borderline M. See 'Warnings' inside. Reviews are love.


Atonement

Warnings: Rated T, but _borderline_ M for mature themes, mentions of torture/violence and being very dark. Here be angst. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the way the words were put together.

…

Blood runs down my hands and covers the front of my jacket. It is not my own. It is never my own. And it has never bothered me.

Until now.

I stare down at the lifeless body in my lap, warm blood still flowing from the gaping wound in the young woman's neck. The dark liquid makes her skin, marred by her injuries, slick. The coppery smell fills my nostrils and sticks in the back of my throat, choking me. It had never bothered me before.

But I had never _felt_ it before.

I gaze down at the dead Jedi before me. She was pretty – once. Her fair skin is now crisscrossed with lacerations and darkened by bruises, and her once light golden hair is matted and caked with drying blood. The marks of my torture. I'd told her I'd break her, and I thought I had.

But now I think she may have been the one to break me.

Thoughts and emotions run rampant in my mind. I can't think – all I know is that it hurts. It hurts deeper than I can describe. I suppose I could say that it feels as if a knife were twisting in my gut, or as if every nerve cell in my body has been set aflame, but that would be a lie. The pain I feel penetrates my very soul and makes me want to beg for mercy, beg for it to end.

But dying would be too good a fate for me after all that I've done – a coward's exit. I realize this now.

Just before I killed her, she had looked me in the eyes and had reached out to me. For the briefest of moments, our minds had touched. I had seen me through her eyes, _felt _the result of my actions through the Force.

It was an image that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I look down into a pair of vacant grey orbs. As I gently brush my fingers over her eyelids to close them, blood smears across her face.

I squeeze my eyes shut. She had been pure and forgiving right until the end. When I had first seen her, she had looked like an angel.

She doesn't anymore. Not after all the things I have done to her.

Getting to my feet, I sway as feelings wash over me; agony and something else – possibly regret? I double over and manage to turn away before emptying the contents of my stomach. By the time I am left with only dry heaves, I have fallen to my knees again. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and my hands on my jacket, shuddering.

I try to stand for a second time, and succeed through sheer force of will. I stumble to the wall, using the dim grey light filtering through the grimy window to locate the hook where my cloak is waiting. As I pull the thick, dark fabric around me, I leave the room without another glance at my victim. I don't know what will happen if I look, only that my temporary illusion of stability will be shattered. I can't afford that.

Upon exiting the tavern, I am struck by a blast of cool air and misty dampness. My heavy boot splashes in a puddle, and I pause to watch the ripples move outwards and distort my image. When the water returns to its former smooth state, I examine my reflection. Anyone passing by on the street would see a handsome young man with a somber expression, gripping a finely made cloak around himself to ward off the damp chill.

I see a cold-hearted murderer, a downright bastard who lives off the pain and suffering of his victims. A man who has let himself be consumed by darkness, who revels in the power he feels as he slowly tortures his prey, and who thrives off the feelings of triumph as he succeeds in breaking them.

Where they see an ordinary man, I see a monster.

Bile rises in my throat and I close my eyes to find that this image has also been burned into my mind. Wrapping my arms even tighter around me, I quickly make my way into an alley and slip into the shadows. I collapse against the rough wall, curling up in a futile attempt to stop the pain, to stop everything from tumbling out. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I wonder if this is what it is to feel remorse. If so, then remorse must be a living thing; a parasite that makes its home inside you and eats you from within, until you cannot take it anymore.

A predator that is impossible to flee, and who will not leave you alone until you have been successfully broken. A predator, like me. The back of my mind dimly realizes that this might be fitting. Poetic justice.

I lose track of time and likely drift in and out of consciousness. At some point, things slowly begin to settle into place.

I know that I cannot go back. I must leave behind my life as an assassin. I must leave behind who I was, or I will surely destroy myself.

If I have not already.

As of this moment, Jaq Rand is no more. He will be locked away, never to be released again.

I am not sure if I will ever be able to atone for all of his crimes, but I promise myself, one day I will try.

However much I doubt I will follow through with it, I will never forget my promise.

I have made it my name.

_Atton_.

…

AN: Reviews and any feedback/critiques are greatly appreciated.


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